Pod's Garden
by BatCrooks
Summary: Expanding and exploring the universe of Flight Rising through the dragons in my lair.
1. Chapter 1

Luca was on the train to his new home. The train had departed northbound from the Sunbeam capital of Beacon's Gate a few hours ago, and the landscape it passed through still hadn't changed from the endless golden plains to the west and the maddeningly regular horizon of the ocean far to the east, the side Luca was on. The track that the train ran along snaked its way up the rocky coast, often getting very close to the steep cliffs that edged the continent. It was only sparsely populated in that corner of Sunbeam, and would be like that until they got closer to the Strait.

Still, Luca laid his chin on the shallow top edge of the backrest of his compartment and stared blearily out of the thick, slightly warped window, his eyes following the flights of seagulls until they passed by. He'd gotten tired of reading the novel that he'd stowed in his light travel pack a while ago, and the thrill of being on a journey had faded before even that. At least out the window there was a chance a roc might fly by, or even just dragons on the wing.

The thunk, thunk, thunk of the train mixed with the warm, mid-morning sunlight pouring through the window made Luca sleepy. It was comfortable enough in the second-class passenger carriage, and whatever comforts it lacked Luca was willing to put up with, because what was a life-changing journey without a little hardship?

This passenger carriage had a single aisle down the middle with compartments along the sides, partitioned to keep the usually large dragon passengers from sliding into each other, but not closed off and private like in first class. There were no long resting couches, either, the type that a dragon might recline on with his legs on either side and a chin rest on the end, or even permanent cushions on the floor. The partition walls were both slightly padded, so leaning against them wasn't unbearable, and probably, Luca thought, in case the train stopped quickly no one should hurt themselves tumbling into them. The floor was bare wood, just a lockbox in the corner that a smaller dragon could sit on, possibly, but Luca hadn't used. Luca had been obliged to buy a travel cushion from a tundra dragon who had been wheeling them down the aisle as he boarded. He wasn't sure what he'd even do with it when he reached his destination, but he hadn't known to bring one with him like the clearly seasoned travelers that were already sound asleep upon them in other compartments. Most of the other compartments had multiple dragons within them, another costly oversight by Luca, who didn't know it was common to split the cost of them. Most who shared looked to be strangers, for they had cordoned off a section of a compartment with their luggage and were ignoring the other occupants. One fae dragon had even slung a hammock across two hooks on the partition walls, which Luca thought was clever. There were a few families, and clearly some friends, for earlier there had been a lot of conversation.

In the quiet, close atmosphere, the snapper's eyes were just beginning to close when the engine, sounding far away, gave a whistle that woke a young skydancer in the compartment across the aisle. She was very young, and apparently waking up in such conditions was enough to send her doing that high, bird-like peeping cry infants of her race did. Her mother was quick to give her a consoling pet and quiet her, but it had disturbed the comfortable silence in the carriage and now conversations broke out again.

Luka peered out the window beyond the skydancer family to see what on the western side had caused the engine to whistle, since the east side was nothing but ocean as usual. After a moment he could see a large herd of sheep go by the window, with their shepherd, a guardian dragon, watching from a rise beyond them and a dwarf hainu, presumably the shepherd's familiar, hop-flapping and barking with excitement as the train rumbled by. The little tableau of rural solitude reminded Luca of his purpose, and despite the uncertainty of it all, he smiled. He looked down at his hands, at the ring with inlaid pearl on his left little claw, glad for the grudging blessing it represented.

The night before, at his parent's townhouse in Beacon's Gate, had been touchy. It was the beginning of Windsinger's Month, and it was almost pleasant outside as the sun's warmth followed it slowly over the horizon, but that atmosphere didn't enter the stormy interior of the house.

"You're really sure?" Luca's father, a pearlcatcher named Adan, had said. It wasn't the first time, and this time it didn't have any real hope behind it. Adan's son had rarely been steadfast about anything - in fact, Luca had purposefully shied away from anything Adan had tried to steer him towards, up to and including abandoning his studies at the University of the Radiant Eye, which Adan had done a lot of expensive maneuvering to get him accepted into. It was a very sore spot for Adan, and had been very embarrassing. Even if Luca hadn't taken up law, Adan's trade, in favor of philosophy or even literature - whatever young dragons were getting into these days - at least Adan could have held his head up high and said, "Why yes, my son is away studying at the University," and his friends would all nod knowingly, remembering their days there, reveling in the prestige of it.

But, no. This was the thing his son had fixated on. And now, Adan had had to come around to this new idea, and he hated it. "I could still get you a job with Derelan. He needs an assistant, and even without the school, you'd be eligible for advancement..." A tired argument, retread many times in the last few weeks. It had really run out of steam when the deed had come in the post, and now it was probably just habit.

"Yes, da, I'm very sure," Luca had said. He was closing the latch the last of his traveling trunks, something so definitively final that it sent a thrill through him. "This is what I want to do. You know I have nothing against you or what you do, I love you and ma very much. But I need to... to make something. You know? Take the dirt in my claws and make something people need."

Adan had hung his head, his long whiskers drooping. "I know you'll not be dissuaded. By Lightweaver, you've already spent the money on the property sight unseen - I'd damn well hope you're serious about it at this point! But son, aside from everything, aside from... the social suicide you're committing, and not just to yourself! Aside from that, Luca... you don't even know the first thing about farming."

Luca had picked up his new hat then - a wide-brimmed brown cloth thing, not at all presentable - and set it with finality upon his head. He grinned. "Well, I'll have to learn fast then, won't I?"

The next morning Luca, his father Adan, his mother Strella, a snapper dragon, and the family's butler Robul, a longneck, were at the Sun's Throne train station. Luca stood with Robul by the trunker-drawn carriage that had brought the family and Luca's luggage. They discussed luggage arrangements with the station workers. Since Luca was travelling with the luggage through to the destination, it wouldn't need storage at any point, and thus the process was very simple. (Although riding carriages and trains were fashionable and, for many races, necessary, it was still very typical for larger races, traditionalists, or adventurous dragons, to make the journey somewhere on the wing while their luggage safely arrived by train. Most train stations had secure storage buildings attached or nearby, and the handling of unaccompanied luggage was a business unto itself.)

Seeing the two large trunks safely stored in the luggage car, Luca took a deep breath and readied himself. He had bought a second-class ticket to save money, which he thought had been very clever and frugal. In truth, there was still the third class option, which was probably more befitting his new lot in life, but he couldn't quite bring himself to do that. He was going to have to be very frugal now, he knew, without allowance. (He was quite sure he was good with money - he'd saved a lot of it since he was young, enough to call a real hoard, which was something he liked to think was his younger self being forward-thinking, but in reality had just been a lack of expensive habits.) He'd never been on the second-class carriage before. His only train rides had been in first-class on the westbound train to visit his grandparents in Mirrorlight, and he was excited.

He hugged his mother and turned to his father, prepared to defend himself one last time. But Adan looked resigned. "Luca, this is foolish," he said matter-of-factly. Luca only nodded, smiling, more fond than annoyed of the argument at this point. "But I am proud of you. You have the spirit of the dawn of the Fourth Age in you, going out on your own to the wild to claw out your own place. It's not to better the cause of the Lightweaver, of course -" that would have been truly respectable, to join the Exalted, but he left that unsaid, "but it is... brave. You are brave, son. Foolhardy. And brave. Which is the same thing, probably."

Luca was touched. "Thank you," he said, subdued.

Adan nodded. He reached into one of the small pockets attached to the satchel that carried his pearl, which looked recently polished, and retrieved a small object wrapped in silk. Unfolding the silk, he revealed a gold ring with a small circle of inlaid pearl. "I intended to give you this when you graduated university," he began, trailing off as if he regretted starting by mentioning that. "It's from my pearl, you know; you're not a pearlcatcher, so it's... traditional."

Luca knew. He had embraced his father, said a fond farewell to Robul, Adan had muttered about impropriety and lowering one's class one last time, Luca's mother made him promise to write, and Luca had gone from the wide and airy illuminated glass cathedral that was Sun's Throne station to the dark, close noisiness of the train carriage. He sat in his unfurnished compartment for a moment, bought his travel cushion, and with a turmoil of excitement and trepidation, watched the huge city of Beacon's Gate disappear in the morning light.


	2. Chapter 2

Goldshore was a prosperous hamlet on the northern coast of Sunbeam. Its buildings were mostly low, stone and timber constructions, and sprinkled throughout were grandiose white stone ruins, broken columns and cracked paved roads from the Second Age. But most of the buildings were dragon houses, the humbler sort that consisted of a room above ground and a bedroom or two dug out underneath, an extension of a traditional burrow, although closer to downtown were more sprawling manors and fashionably tall merchant's homes, several with a private flight patio with carefully manicured foliage along the edge.

The town was a port city near the mouth of the Viridian Strait, the relatively thin expanse of water between the continent and the island of the Viridian Labyrinth. From her little vendor's pushcart situated on a rise on the main street, Marigold could just see through to the water beyond the docks. Behind the many tall ships anchored in the harbor, she could see nothing but hazy ocean horizon. Although this was the closest point between Sunbeam and the Gladekeeper's island, it was still too far to see from here. Among the ships, Marigold spotted a sleekly built vessel with two huge paddlewheels on either side of the hull, as well as three masts with tied up sails. That would be a ship from her own native Ashfall Wastes, the type that used fire magic and technology to power the paddlewheels and keep the ship going through unfavorable winds, probably carrying cargo from Blacksand Annex to trade along the coast.

Marigold sighed distractedly and rearranged the products on her pushcart: brightly colored paper rockets and little round packets with string fuses, all different shapes and sizes. They smelt of gunpowder and strange metals and chemicals, and, to the tundra's sharp nose, the latticework of spells that compartmentalized and instructed all the ingredients. They were fireworks, and, as the little sign on the side of the cart proclaimed, they were the MOST SPLENDID AND FANTASTIC FIREWORKS YOU'LL EVER SEE!

Marigold hadn't sold any today.

The Goldshore market was held once every week and attracted vendors from all of the surrounding area. The most influential presence were the fleece merchants who sold and traded great sacks of fleece gathered from the area sheep farmers to weavers and cloth manufacturers, but the stalls and storefronts sold all variety of everyday necessities and extravagances, both local and from the Tangled Wood and across the strait or from even further abroad. At the outskirts of the town, many stalls were merely tables set up on the side of the busy main street: small-timers selling items from their garden or from the wild. Freshly caught rabbits and small creatures lay in a neat, grisly row in front of one rough-looking mirror's stall. A bent, thin pearlcatcher with cropped whiskers and no visible pearl – the marks of a punished thief – hunched behind a table with root vegetables and heads of lettuce. A muscly wildclaw stood outside a wooden pen around a herd of young trunkers, the type that pull carts, and an old tundra sat beside a pyramid made of sheaves of oats bound together with twine.

Further into town, the stalls got more elaborate, and the smells more pleasant. Craftsdragons sold wares that their customers couldn't make themselves: cooking knives and dyed cloth and intricately carved furniture. A soldier bought a new sword, and the hatchling of an indulgent parent led along a bright-winged dwarf hainu puppy on a leash. Magicians of all elements sold spell scrolls and charmed objects, and a fortune teller from the Sea of a Thousand Currents foretold fates. In an alley, a nocturne was overseeing a game with rune-covered playing cards that shimmered and hummed, apparently as part of the game. There was a huge variety of food to eat on the go: bakers hired longnecks to carry trays of steaming meat-filled pastries enticingly at the edge of the crowd, and jolly confectioners held out sweets on a stick to passing hatchlings, encouraging them to ask their parents to buy one. A rather rotund guardian with a street corner all to himself boasted that he had a pie to suit any diet, from beef to cricket to sardine to strawberry! And a family of brewers, a snapper father and his young sons, one of whom was a ridgeback, were making steady business selling ale by the flagon out of a huge barrel, their customers adding to the heightened frivolity and rowdiness of the fair.

One such rowdy customer, a skydancer, his antennae curled playfully and the scent of ale on him, leaned up against Marigold's little cart, causing a minor avalanche of a little pile of round paper bombs she had stacked up. The skydancer hiccuped lightly and said, "Oh, pardon me," as he looked at the fireworks on display. Marigold grinned broadly.

"Interested in fireworks, sir?" she said brightly. She picked up a larger rocket made of green and gold paper stripes. "Mistral Jamboree is just a few short weeks away, best to stock up now to make your celebration memorable! This rocket alone will awe your friends; it's none other than the Windsinger himself, who'll fly about in beautiful spirals for a solid minute, guaranteed."

The skydancer smiled indulgently and shook his head. "No thanks, lass, I'm not the sort to throw parties m'self. You sell many of these?"

Marigold felt a rush of frustration. It was nearing the end of the market day now and she hadn't made any money at all. She shrugged, feeling defeated but happy to have someone to talk to. "Sir, to tell the truth, no. Up until recently I had a patron clan – Clan Brightscale, of a county west of Mirrorlight. I did alchemy for them mostly, although for festivals the leader liked fireworks and I got very good at them." The skydancer looked bemused but hadn't left, so Marigold kept talking. "The leader died, though, in a harpy raid near the Tangled Wood just at the start of Trickmurk, and his son took it as a sign that the whole family should go into the Lightweaver's service. The clan broke up, so here I am."

The skydancer hiccuped again. "I read about that, in the paper you know. Very sad, so very troublesome. I – hic – wish you the best of luck my dear." Marigold smiled sadly as he walked, somewhat clumsily, away. She shook her head and began to pack up the fireworks, latching closed the little compartments on her pushcart and pulling up the wooden signboard hanging on the side.

Over the din of the market, Marigold heard the whistle of an approaching train. She hesitated for a moment. Now that she had decided to pack up and go back to the little inn where she was renting a room, it seemed like a futile waste of energy to go across town to the train station and try and sell there. But it was too good an opportunity, and so she finished packing up and hurriedly guided the little cart through the busy streets to the station.


	3. Chapter 3

The station at Goldshore was on the edge of the western district where one of the ancient stone roads widened into a little courtyard. It was a busy area: the spillover of the market crowd and the usual buskers and waiting passengers mixed together noisily, getting louder as they strained to be heard over the approaching train. The station itself wasn't very grand: the small luggagehouse (where unattended luggage would be stored until travelers on the wing arrived) was attached to the side of a clay brick building, and the platform for the train had an arched wrought iron covering that sprouted from the back of the building like an open wing.

Marigold parked her cart near where she figured the arriving passengers would have to pass to get out into the courtyard. She unfolded half of it, pulling open the drawers in the back and piling a few different fireworks on top, the ones she thought were easier to sell to travellers in a hurry. The train had come to a stop beside the platform, and it hissed and popped as the engine cooled with wisps of steam snaking out of the chimney. Station workers rushed to the luggage carriage as the passengers began stepping out. The passengers milled about uncertainly for the most part, although clearly seasoned travelers followed the workers to collect their luggage and be on their way.

"Exotic fireworks from the Ashfall Wastes!" Marigold said cheerily. A few passengers glanced her way as they stepped off the platform, but not many. "The finest crafted spellcrackers in Sunbeam!"

Marigold cursed under her breath - she had never gotten good at hawking her wares. She thought nostalgically of the private workshop she'd had in the Brightscale Lair, the seemingly endless supplies and expensive tools all within claw's reach.

She inhaled deeply through her nostrils, stoking the hearth of fire magic within her. She lifted her hands and laced her claws briskly through the air, weaving an invisible thread between them. After a few moments, she clapped her hands together loudly and abruptly, collapsing the woven spell, and a tiny simulacrum of a rocket shot up from where the sound broke out. It sparked and crackled, red and green and blue, trailing upward until just overhead where it exploded in a miniature candelabra firework.

Several dragons had stopped to watch, so Marigold quickly wove another spell. These were little parlor tricks, nothing like the masterpieces wrapped up in paper she was trying to sell. But they seemed to get people's attention. She clapped again, and another tiny firework shot up.

"Living fireworks and stories in smoke, guaranteed to awe and inspire! Just a gold piece each for these little ones!" She held out the tightly packed round smoketales and the thin fireswarms and screamers. A few sold now, but all too soon the train passengers had gone by, melding into the general bustle of the town.

Marigold sighed and set her remaining wares back down. She carefully scraped the gold coins piled on the cart into her little coin purse. This had been a bad market day, and she couldn't imagine how she was going to get by during the rest of the week. No one in Goldshore seemed to need an alchemist right now, and they certainly didn't seem to need fireworks.

"Those little spells you did just then were remarkable!" The voice came from back on the platform, and Marigold turned to see a snapper, looking rather travel-weary standing beside three traveling chests piled on top of one another with a big travel cushion laid lengthwise on top.

Marigold tried to appraise him quickly. He seemed about her age, and he looked worn from being on the train all day and flushed from some exertion - maybe moving the trunks to here from the carriage? "Thank you, would you like to buy a firework?" she smiled, and swept her hand over the few products left on her cart.

"Oh - I'd love to, actually, but I'm not sure if I'm in a hurry or not. Do you know if I've missed the ferry to the Labyrinth?" The snapper peered into the distance, as if trying to see through the buildings to the Strait. "I thought… well, I guess it was a silly assumption, but I thought the train would let me out… closer."

Marigold thought about it quickly. "No, no, the market day is just wrapping up, all those merchants from the Labyrinth will want to go home now." She glanced at the sky. It looked like there was an hour or so before sundown. "But if it hasn't left yet, there's not much time. Do you know where it is?" The snapper shrugged, looking a bit overwhelmed. "And you're taking those chests - are they heavy? Well, you couldn't carry them anyway, they're too big. We need a porter!" She looked around the courtyard. It was starting to clear out now, but she could see a little group of one-trunker carriage taxis standing off to the side. Others like these had been busy a minute ago, carrying away passengers, but these looked to be taking a break. The drivers were perched on the driver's boxes, chatting to each other. She turned to the snapper. "Watch my cart for a second!" she said, folding up the side flaps unceremoniously and bounding out into the courtyard.

Luca watched as the tundra went up to one of the taxis and pointed back at him as she explained. He laughed. The last few minutes had been such a flurry, being rushed off the train, foolishly dragging the cushion he'd had to buy, and then realizing he was nowhere near the harbor and that his luggage, each with the metal ring that marked them ATTENDED, had been separated from one another on the ground outside the train. He had, with difficulty, stacked the three of them up. Two of the chests were entirely full of books and were very heavy. He'd managed to push the precarious tower over to the edge of the platform, where he'd been stopped by the little crowd watching tiny fireworks.

Luca realized he really hadn't planned very well to be on his own for this part of the trip. He hoped this wasn't a bad portent so early in his adventure.

The enthusiastic assistance of this talented stranger lifted his spirits. She was clearly a very skilled magician, and he really did want to buy some of her fireworks. They would be the type that you only saw at grand events, he was sure: entire scenes crafted from fire and smoke that showed grand visions or played out a familiar scene from a story, or merely exploded into a miraculous array of color. He'd seen them occasionally, growing up, though not nearly as often as the more subdued lightworks common in Sunbeam, crafted by a light magician and confined to being projected onto a surface. Fireworks and spellcrackers were more exciting, free-flying and hugely alive. Luca fetched his coin purse out of his travel pack so that he could buy a few of them when the tundra came back.

She surprised him though, as she made her way back before the taxi which had to pick it's way around the crowd. "Would you mind if I shared your taxi?" she said. "There should be plenty of room for everything, we can split the cost!"

"Of course!" Luca said. "But don't worry about that, sell me one of those little rockets and I'll pay the whole fare." He made sure all his things were together and pushed the tower of luggage closer to the street with a grunt of effort.

"It's a deal!" the tundra said as she began to do the same, shovelling all the fireworks into the drawers on the back of her little pushcart and carefully choosing one to hand to Luca. "I call this type a fireswarm, it lasts for about a half minute and looks like a swarm of dragonflies."

Luca took it appreciatively. "I've never seen one like that before! You invented it?" He put the small stick with a paper-bound packet on the end into his pack.

The tundra nodded, smiling. "Yes! That one is pretty good, I got a lot of colors pressed into it." She watched a bit nervously as the taxi driver, a coatl, maneuvered her cart onto the platform at the back of the coach. "I'm Marigold, by the way," she said.

Luca nodded amiably. "Luca," he replied. "Very nice to meet you." He helped the driver lift his heavy chests into the cart. A thick leather strap was buckled over everything, and the driver seemed to be content with it. They all got on board, the driver hopping up to the raised box on front, and Marigold and Luca climbing into the open-air coach, which was mostly a flat, painted wood bed with cushions built into the back and front walls. The trunker got the whole thing moving with a little encouragement, and they began moving through the streets at a fairly brisk pace.

"So," Luca said, "do you live near the harbor?"

Marigold shook her head. "No, I don't live here at all. Well, I was staying here, and there goes the inn I was renting at now." She pointed at a building they were passing by, a larger building made of sandy-colored stone with a wooden sign out front naming it "The Cracked Column". There was, in fact, a lonely, freestanding column beside it, the remains of a long forgotten Second Age building. "But I thought I'd catch the ferry, too, and see if I can find work in the Gladeveins. Everything I own is in that cart, anyway, and no one needs an alchemist here."

"Haven't had any luck in Goldshore?" Luca said thoughtfully. He watched the little city pass by for a minute. He could already see the water now, and a boat pulled up close to shore that was probably, hopefully, the ferry. "Well, I'm sure there's something in the Gladeveins, it's a wealthy state, surely some clan or another needs an alchemist."

Marigold nodded. "Yes, that's what I was thinking. I had a patron before, and it'd be good to have another again. I can't afford good materials on my own." She looked at Luca. "Where are you headed, then? If you don't mind me asking."

Luca grinned, although he felt a little foolish to talk about it. "I'm going north up the coast, to Everbloom, to a little town called Pod's Garden. I bought an estate there, some farmland and a house." He laughed. "I bought it through the post! A friend of the family has been living up there doing research on ancient Serthis ruins. She sent me a letter last year and mentioned it - apparently someone had died and left it empty, and I got it into my head to buy the place." He nodded back towards the luggage. "I've been buying and reading as many books about agriculture as I can find, and I brought them all with me, although I've gotten most of them more or less memorized." That was a common snapper talent, and Marigold nodded appreciatively. Luca shrugged. "I know I'm just a city dragon, but I really wanted to give it a go at least."

Marigold mulled that over. Clearly Luca had a good amount of money to feel so secure in such a venture. He didn't seem too deluded - at least he'd done a little homework beforehand, but she had an inkling that he was in for some harder times than he anticipated. She wasn't going to say so, though. He was clearly very excited about it. "That sounds like a nice little adventure," she said, sincerely.

Luca nodded in agreement. "Yes, an adventure! Exactly. I'm just a little bit late in the season for spring plowing, but not much. I should be able to start on things and get crops in by late summer. I don't expect it to be easy, of course, but, to be honest, I'm looking forward to some hard work."

Marigold smiled, and seemed to register something. "Pod's Garden, you said? I've heard of it. It's supposed to be a big new destination for artists and magicians. There was a skinpainter who stopped by my clan last year who said he lived there. Well - wrote that he lived there. He was deaf, but he could write in the air. His name was Banquo." Marigold had bought a design from him, an accent of shimmering flame markings similar to the one the artist wore, himself, and she had looked very exciting until it had faded. "I wonder if they need an alchemist there…"

"Oh, I'm sure it's very likely!" Luca said brightly. He was pleased that the tundra might end up being his travel companion all the way to his destination. "It's a small town, Aunt Dot said, but growing every year. And -" he grinned, remembering a crucial detail, "they have rather legendary festivals."

Marigold perked her ears. This was good news, big festivals meant the town employed a lot of artists. If she was really lucky, she could make a living just being a fireworker. Not that she didn't like alchemy - it was what she had apprenticed for and she'd be lucky just to get a good alchemy job, she knew - but she yearned to really stretch the boundaries of the art she made. "Well," she said tentatively, though really she'd made up her mind already, "I'll ask around a little tonight and tomorrow, about if anyone needs an alchemist in the Gladeveins. But, I think maybe I'll go to Pod's Garden, too."

"That would be splendid," Luca said.

The taxi pulled up near the docks, where the ferry ship was pulled up with a walking platform connecting it to the shore. A tundra, his mane drawn up in a centaur-tail behind his head, pushed a luggage cart up to the taxi, and Luca and Marigold got off to oversee the loading of their things. Luca paid the driver, giving him more than the fare he asked for and thanking him effusively for getting them there on time, and the two dragons followed their luggage up the platform and onto the ship.


	4. Chapter 4

"I've been in the Tangled Wood since just after Winterfeast," the fae said. He wore a broad hat with a wispy feather stuck in the brim, and an elaborate sword in a scabbard hung around his waist. "The Night of the Nocturne was already in full swing, of course, but Springle would not abide by me leaving before Winterfeast."

Luca and Marigold had fallen into conversation with the fae after settling on the deck of the ferry, which was a smallish ship with Ashfall-style paddlewheels on either side to ensure it stayed timely. Its small size did cause it to be rocked by any wave of significant height, which was a bit miserable, especially combined with the chilliness of the seaspray and ocean wind. Luca watched a guardian fly by over the strait, gliding effortlessly on the wind, headed for the distant shore. Luca envied the efficiency of that method of travel. To put his luggage on the boat and simply fly over the water - that would be a wonderful thing.

But being on the ferry did allow him companions, and as he sat next to Marigold and listened to the fae's tale he decided this was better, anyway.

"It's the most active time for ghosts," the fae explained. "From the month of Winterfeast to the Trickmurk Circus. And everyone always wants what the dead have claimed." The fae's name was Cricket, he'd said. He was a ghosthunter, a guide through haunted ruins. "Ghosts are everywhere, of course, but there are none so easily agitated as the ones in Ghostlight. That's where I make most of my money for the year. But they all quiet down a bit after the Circus, and there are less treasurehunters making the trip out to the ruins. So I go home, to Pod's Garden. Such a pleasure meeting others making the same trip! More have been coming every year but not usually in Windsinger's month."

Luca nodded. "I've bought a farm that needs tending to," he explained happily. "It's been sitting empty for a little while. And I was rather eager for a change of scenery, to tell the truth."

"Well, that makes sense, then!" Cricket said. "An empty farm - I know the one it must be: old Rooter's place. He died last year. Must not have had anyone to leave the place to after all, then."

Luca felt a mix of anxious delight to hear anything at all about the estate he'd bought and mild awkwardness at the realization he might be seen as taking over a deceased neighbor's property. He hadn't really thought about that before. "I'm sure that's likely, I was told it was the estate of someone who had just passed." He cast about for another topic, and remembered Marigold. "I was told Pod's Garden holds exceptional festivals, is that true?"

Cricket smiled. "They're the most elaborate I've seen outside of the Tangled Wood's very own Circus. Some Gardeners will make the trip to the Tangled Woods for that. And I have been to a Brightshine Jubilee in Beacon's Gate once, when I was younger, that was truly a sight - but every flight goes all-out on their own festival, don't they? But for the festivals Pod's Garden throws, for Mistral Jamboree this month, and many of the others, of course especially Greenskeeper's, we get flocks and flocks of visitors traveling to town to experience it."

Marigold grinned. It sounded very promising. "Is there a fireworker in town for them?"

The fae thought about that for a moment. "No, none of the Gardeners are fireworkers that I can think of. We must get some independent ones, because there's definitely been some fireworks at festivals I remember. But the main event are Pod's flower shows."

Both Luca and Marigold had to wonder how flower shows could be the main event of a festival, but they didn't question it. Marigold was feeling very hopeful. "I'm a fireworker myself, and an alchemist. I was hoping there might be a job there," she said. "My patron clan, Brightscale, split up when the leader joined the Exalted, which left me without a job."

"I'm sure you could find a place there," Cricket said. "I don't think we have an alchemist, either." He looked thoughtful. "I heard about Brightscale, they were a clan near the border? They were the targets of that harpy raid."

Marigold nodded sadly. "Yes, the leader and a few others were killed. Apparently that flock have been causing a lot of trouble, although they don't wear the Alliance banner."

"How terrible," Luca said. "I didn't know we were having beastclan problems in Sunbeam."

"Oh, yes, in Sunbeam and the Wood, too. It's happening everywhere, as often as dragons raid harpies," Cricket said - a little reproachfully, Luca thought. "I'm sorry you lost your patron, Marigold."

The sun was hanging low on the western horizon after an hour of sailing. It would be down by the time they made landfall on the shore of the Labyrinth, which they could just make out as a verdant stripe to the north. Luca shivered as a spray of water was carried onboard by the wind. He turned to Cricket hopefully. "Could you tell us more about ghosthunting? I read a novel about a ghosthunter once but I have never met a real one. It's fascinating."

Cricket sat up taller. As a fae, he was much smaller than either of the other dragons, but he exuded a confidence born from a life of facing mysteries and dangers that frightened even the largest of dragons. "I have a story to tell, if you'll allow me - Springle will want me to tell it in great detail and I might as well practice it."

"Oh, yes, please," Marigold said.

Cricket nodded, and began.

"It was about a month ago now, before Trickmurk. A pair of treasurehunters from Dragonhome hired me to guard them as they explored Ghostlight. Fairly typical. They were not very experienced, mostly full of bravado with gold in their eyes. The rumor of riches in the Ghostlight Ruins is as unkillable as its denizens, and to tell the truth there are a few grand treasures brought up out of the stones every now and then. Mostly it's stuff people left behind, the kinds of things that get haunted, especially in the Tangled Wood. Books, old hatchlings' toys, things like that. The worst is when they start messing about with the crypts, of course.

"This pair was particularly tenacious, not to be swayed by wraith hounds or tatterwings. We were in the ruins for a solid week altogether, camped out near an ancient lair. I'd sanctified the place: salt and iron filings and agrimony petals around the perimeter, all the tricks that keep spirits away. Still I couldn't help feeling we were into something deep, and I wished I had brought even more protection. The longnecks that live in the area swear by bluelight candles, but they don't make them for outsiders, and I haven't been able to work out the recipe myself.

The two I was guarding had brought some ropes and pulley systems. They'd driven nails into columns and stones to anchor the pulleys, and they'd made a fair spider web in one section of the lair. They were sure they'd found the crypt of the old clan leader, and had a huge flat stone they needed to move. It was rather impressive of them to have thought to bring pulleys, really. Normally folks just go in with pickaxes and shovels, which is slow going and annoys the wendigos.

So they had their ropes wrapped around the stone and I was helping tug the thing off. Took a lot of maneuvering but the two fellows were strong enough and we got it off after a while.

Underneath was a tomb. Dark, cold stone stairs leading down into shadow. Would be spooky but that's what the whole place feels like, deep shadow. Still, there's a smell like rot coming up from below and that's unusual. Everything in Ghostlight is so old it doesn't smell like decay. It smells like age, and dust, and lots of spirits, but most dragons can't smell that. But rot, no; only carrioncorns really smell like rot and you only get those if they wander in out of the Abiding Boneyard. They don't live underground.

So these poor plunderers light a torch and I go down first to make sure there's nothing sleeping down there, like a somber spirit or something. There's a bunch of roots and cobwebs dangling from the ceiling, but it's dry, and I can't find any reason for the smell. The torch behind me is throwing a long shadow ahead, making it hard to see, and I've got one hand on my supply pouch and another on the hilt of my sword, waiting for something to jump out. But there's nothing at all, you can tell by the sound. Empty echoes, the sound's not hitting any interference. Just some stone plinth on the back wall with an urn on it. So I relax. 'Empty', I tell them.

I can tell they're disappointed that there's not much in the tomb, but that's not really my problem. I'm standing at the bottom of the staircase, tying a sprig of hyssop into a root tendril that's dangling down. Hyssop's a good ghost ward, I have a lot of plants like that. It only really works on little phantoms and wraith hounds, sometimes, but I was being thorough. My frills were tingling, like things were moving through air in a different time.

One of the treasurehunters was a little hot-headed, and after they'd both searched the whole place over, peeling up flagstones and knocking on the walls to find secret hollows, they came up empty. He was mad. They thought they'd be rich by now, they'd researched old books and studied maps and there was supposed to be something buried here, they said. The mad one swept his tail around and smacked that urn right off its perch. It was just clay, not even decorated, and they'd opened it up already and saw it was full of nothing but dust, or ashes. When it hit the ground it broke into big shards, and the dust spilled out onto the stone.

That's when the rot smell got really bad. It swept up out of the dust and filled that little room, blown by an unseen wind. I had my sword out by now. This was going to be bad.

Even my wards could tell there was a ghost coming now, and they scrambled to get around me to the stairs. I watched for a minute: the dust started to tremble, and it began pulling itself together, whirling up and looking terrifyingly solid. The smell was overwhelming, no ghost smelled like that. I flew up after the treasurehunters, but by then the stone itself had started quaking. I'm lucky I got out of the staircase before the ceiling collapsed.

The ground looked like it was breathing for a moment. The dark earth and the cracked stone of felled walls and columns boiled around the tomb. And then something broke through.

It was a skeletal hand, enormous, with blood red claws as long as I am. It was as big as an imperial - bigger. It dug those claws into the dirt and pulled itself up, and the ground heaved up as the skull of the thing broke through. It was coming from nowhere, from somewhere else, anchored in that gravedust. Rotten, tattered cloth was clinging to its skull, and mud and moss rained down from its shoulders as it pushed itself up, and up. When its ribs were free, it tore a single, bony wing from the ground and stretched it out. The membrane of it looked like the cobwebs in the staircase, stretched thin and holey. It didn't care at all about the ropes that still hung around the place from the excavation. Wherever they would have confined it, the ropes burned apart and the whole system snaked to the ground.

Before I could even react, the specter swung its monstrous hand and hit one of my wards. It connected like a battering ram, and the poor fool got swept aside like a sack of grain. He cracked his head on a column and didn't get up again. 'Get behind a wall!' I yelled at the other one, and he just managed to get to cover as the creature swiped its claw again. I flew up to that sweeping arm and grabbed onto a bit of tattered cloth.

It seemed disorientated, just swinging about randomly, letting out a breathless, rattling, stinking roar from those skeletal jaws. I could hear buzzwings flying about, huge blooducker flies with stingers, but they were just as unfocused, like they'd been slumbering, too. I crawled up the bony arm, up the rotten cloak that half covered the thing's head. A massive cloud of ghost mist and gravedust was swirling around in the ribcage below me, and in its eyes were glowing orbs that showed a kind of half-crazed intelligence. This was something that had been cursed, far worse than anything I'd seen yet in Ghostlight. It's no wonder the treasurehunters had found something written about this tomb, it was almost certainly a warning.

Perched now on the head, I held on as tight as I could with my wings and feet and I lifted my sword up straight above a glowing faultline in the back of it's skull. I suppose I should explain my sword - It's iron, edged with silver, the only kind of blade that affects ghoststuff, and beyond that it was forged in the roots of the Behemoth and cooled in the waters there. There are few things the Gladekeeper mistrusts more than false life - her sister the Plaguebringer is the same.

So as I thrust my sword, small though it is, into the skull of this behemoth, all the dead magic powering its anger and convulsions shuddered a final throe and stopped its whirling. It seeped out all at once, and the mighty bones collapsed. I tumbled down with them, trying to get my sword out from where it was stuck, but as the skull hit the ground it, and all the rest of that horrible specter, disintegrated into nothing more than ashes.

The poor fellow who got tossed aside turned out to be unconscious, but alive. We made up a travois, a stretcher that the unharmed one could drag, and got back to the outskirts of Wispwillow. I didn't hear from them again, I guess they were done treasure-hunting. And I didn't get another client after that, I just spent the rest of the time clearing out aer phantoms from a clan leader's private library."

"But what was the… the specter?" Luca asked.

"Well, it's hard to say," Cricket said. "I asked around amongst my peers who were still lingering in Wispwillow after Trickmurk. It's not the first time such a large and malevolent ghost has been seen in Ghostlight. As far as we can tell, they were either heavily cursed individuals, perhaps the victim of some sort of capital punishment from the very early Fourth Age that has since been forgotten, or else they're the memories of the Lightweaver's folly - the shattered ghosts of an Emperor struck down by the deities." He shrugged. "It is likely to remain a mystery. The ashes, unfortunately -" The fae reached into his pack and pulled out a vial full of a dusty brown substance, stoppered by a cork sealed with translucent wax. "-appear to be simply ashes, and nothing more."


End file.
